A Living Future Filled the Past
by girl in the glen
Summary: Illya needs help, but who does he trust when THRUSH and the Soviets are both after him? For Song Story on Section VII, LJ.


_The prompt... Save A Prayer by Duran Duran_

_You saw me standing by the old corner of a main street  
And the lights are flashing on your window sill  
All alone ain't much fun so you're looking for the thrill  
And you know just what it takes and where to go_

_Don't say a prayer for me now, save it 'til the morning after  
No, don't say a prayer for me now, save it 'til the morning after_

_Feel the breeze deep on the inside,  
look you down into the well  
If you can you'll see the world in all his fire  
Take a chance like all dreamers can't find another way  
You don't have to dream it all, just live a day_

_Don't say a prayer for me now,  
Save it 'til the morning' after  
No, don't say a prayer for me now  
Save it 'til the morning after_

_Pretty looking road, I try to hold the rising floods that fill my skin  
Don't ask me why I'll keep my promise, melt the ice  
And you wanted to dance so I asked you to dance, but fear is in your soul  
Some people call it a one-night stand but we can call it paradise_

_Don't say a prayer for me now, save it 'til the mornin after  
No, don't say a prayer for me now, save it 'til the morning after  
Save it 'til the morning after  
Save it 'til the morning after_

_~~~~~:_

There was a rising tide of apprehension that drove the Russian to seek help from someone he knew couldn't be trusted. A balancing act of lesser evils was now consuming the UNCLE agent's thoughts; was it better to be captured by THRUSH or owe his life to Oksana Petrovich?

In another time Illya Kuryakin might have had no qualms about seeking out the blonde KGB operative, but things had changed in the past ten years. They were no longer completely aligned in their thinking or their allegiances. She was just as likely to call a superior KGB agent and betray Kuryakin out of some sense of obligation to the State. Illya was an UNCLE agent, a position not held in the highest of regard by many who still made decisions within the Kremlin. Even Alexander Waverly had enemies.

On this night Illya found himself in need of help, and the only person he knew in a room full of diplomats and double agents was Oksana. They had known each other well before Illya was sent to England and then Paris. A love affair that never was had been Oksana's way of describing them, although it had not been for lack of desire on Kuryakin's part. She was ambitious, more so than he had been in those days, and where he might have imagined a life with Oksana it would never have survived the political schemes to which she was drawn. Intrigue fascinated the young woman, drove her to want a part in the bigger picture, the important facets of running the USSR. Illya's head was full of science and literature, a romantic soul that would suffer often in pursuit of love.

As he stood in the shadows and watched Oksana, Illya knew he wouldn't be able to escape this current danger without her help. THRUSH had cornered him here at this event; one at which they had their own lackey in the person of a low level diplomatic aid to the ambassador in whose embassy the party was being held. Oksana being present had been a surprise, but now that Illya considered the surroundings he realized that she had risen significantly if she were among the guests. Some strange quirk of good fortune was in play and he had no intention of letting it pass him by.

With as much ease as he could manage, Illya crossed the elegantly appointed room until he was by Oksana's side. Her head swiveled around to look square in the face of someone familiar, someone...

"Illya? Illya... what are you doing here? It was a hoarse whisper, the inflection of her voice unable to hide the surprise at seeing him. "Oksana, it is good to see you, and in such grand surroundings.' Illya indicated the room and the well dressed attendees. He moved closer, speaking into her ear... "I need to speak to you. In private." Kuryakin took the young woman by the elbow and led he to a corner of the room where he could talk to her and watch for any sign of the enemy.

"Listen to me. I need your help. THRUSH has a man..." Oksana's grip on his forearm tightened. "Here, yes we know. He is over there." She pointed to a man near the string quartet, a stubby individual with grey hair. Illya nodded his recognition. "So you are aware of the ambassador's complicity with their agenda." It was a statement, not a question, and Oksana indicated that was the case.

Someone passed nearby and Oksana waived a greeting while simultaneously indicating that he should continue on, a message received by yet another Soviet agent. When she looked again at Illya he seemed abnormally pale. It was then that she noted a spot of red on his shirt.

"You're wounded. How bad is it?" Illya shook his head. "It is nothing, merely a flesh wound. I am fine." How familiar was that line, a memory resurrected of a young man's response to being rejected. Not one to let small details lead to larger problems, Oksana took him by the hand and led him across the room and through the double door that led to the large entry. A stairway led to an imposing balcony, with doors beyond that must have been bedrooms to the ambassador's residence

"Are you able to climb the stairs?" Illya scoffed at the question. "I am not seriously wounded, Oksana. I need to get out of here and to the border. I need you to take me, we won't be stopped if you are in the car." That was his plan, meager as plans go. If Napoleon were here he might have come up with something more suited to the situation, but Illya only knew that he must leave the country and that this woman was a way to do that and not get shot. Hopefully.

"You expect me to take you? I could easily turn you over to the authorities and be rewarded at home, Illyusha. You know that, yes?" A familiar blue glare confronted her then, and Oksana knew she would not betray Illya Kuryakin. She might regret it tomorrow, but tonight the dance he had in mind was one only fools and spies dared to engage in.

"Very well, I shall call my driver..." A violent shake of the blond head was the reply. "No. No one else, Oksana, only the two of usc. Anyone could be on THRUSH's payroll, even one of your own. My people are waiting at the border and will pay you for your trouble, or help you to..." Illya let that last trial off, the intimation that Oksana might consider defecting not something he would verbalize here. He doubted that she would, but the offer would stand should she desire it.

Oksana looked thoughtfully at her former friend. She was aware that he lied to her about the wound; he was losing strength as they stood here and debated the situation. It would be so easy to take him in now, in this condition.

"My car is one of the closer vehicles, but I will need to let my driver know that I am taking the car, otherwise he might send someone after me." She searched Illya's eyes for an answer while he contemplated a response. Finally he nodded, words were becoming more difficult. He wondered that there wasn't a trail of blood by now, hoped there would not be.

Oksana took him by the arm and led him to the door and down the steps of the old house. Her car was close enough, the driver conversing with another man as the couple approached. In Russian she informed him of her plans with the blond on her arm, a romantic liaison would be assumed and she would allow it. Illya tried to move without a hint of his injury, was relieved to be inside the vehicle and allowed to relax his charade. Oksana was taking a risk and he was grateful, if not still slightly apprehensive.

As Oksana sat behind the steering wheel and started the engine she was aware that Illya was already beginning to fall asleep. Let him rest, she knew the way to the border and would recognize his contact there. Ten years separated them but she had been among those watching and observing the UNCLE agent from the Soviet Union. The timing for this was exactly as they had thought, and Kuryakin had reached out to Oksana just as predicted.

"Illyusha... Just this once you will not be punished for your betrayal. THRUSH is our mutual enemy and we will not let you fall into their hands." If Illya heard her he didn't let on. He had a bullet in his side, hadn't slept for over twenty-four hours and he possessed a piece of information that would help remove the ambassador from office and along with him the THRUSH agent who worked alongside of him. The Soviets wanted the man out as much as UNCLE did, and with an uncommon show of restraint had not killed the man outright. If Oksana hadn't been there tonight...

That thought made Illya bolt upright in spite of the pain in his side.

"Oksana, were you expecting me tonight?" The question surprised her, but then Illya had always been exceptionally bright. Why wouldn't he figure out something with so many coincidences?

"What do you think, Illya? That we weren't aware of your presence here, that we didn't suspect the ambassador of his traitorous activities with THRUSH?' Oksana let that settle before continuing. Illya's breathing was becoming labored, she needed to get him to his people quickly. "the information you have will lead to the man's arrest and conviction as a traitor to his country. Public opinion does matter at times, and for now we are satisfied that letting UNCLE discover his guilt works better for us. Illya?" Unable to stay upright any longer, Illya crumpled across the seat of the car, his head resting against Oksana's leg. She stroked his hair, hoped that she could get him to safety before the bullet claimed him.

When Oksana reached the border there was a car waiting, and a man whom she recognized as Illya's partner: Napoleon Solo. She pulled into a space on her side of the barrier, showed something to the guards and let them retreat before continuing on to speak to the American.

"He is wounded, unconscious now. He has the list and proof of Popov's complicity with THRUSH.' At Solo's look of surprise, Oksna added... "Yes, we know about all of it, Mr. Solo. I only wish that Illya had not been hurt. Otherwise we were quite satisfied to let UNCLE expose the man for what he is: a traitor. His guilt will be rewarded with something appropriate to his crime."

Napoleon wondered at her unemotional aspect, then recognized it as the familiar aloofness that his partner exhibited most of the time. The training certainly was consistent if these two were any indication

"Thank you, for bringing him. I'll take it from here.' Napoleon was hefting his partner out of the car as he spoke, rewarded with a grunt of displeasure and the glare of icy blue with which he was so familiar. "I think he'll live if that expression is any indication." Illya floundered and then stood up as straight as he was able.

"I am fine Napoleon, just a flesh wo..." Napoleon caught his partner as he lapsed into unconsciousness. An UNCLE medic was close by now, and helped get the Russian into the ambulance that was waiting nearby, just in case.

"Thank you again, Miss..."

"Petrovich. Oksana Petrovich.' She stopped short of holding out her hand. This American was not her friend, although she suspected that he was Illya's friend. She had seen concern in his eyes, and wondered if Kuryakin had managed to forge many friendships in America. Perhaps that was actually possible there.

"Take care of him, Mr. Solo. He isn't always fine, you know." Napoleon raised an eyebrow at that, then nodded knowingly. "I will, he's my partner... and my friend. I don't intend to let anything happen to him, Oksana."

The pretty blonde smiled. "To friendship then. Spacibo.

As she turned and headed back to the driver's side of the car, Napoleon noted the slightest hesitation. He started to step forward but stopped himself. If she wanted to defect it would need to be her decision, he couldn't influence her. The hesitation was momentary, Oksana got in the car, put it in gear and within minutes was out of sight

Inside the ambulance Illya heard the big engine as it retreated into the night. He didn't believe in prayers, but something made him think that someone, somewhere, should pray for them.

Maybe tomorrow.


End file.
